Tonight, The World is Ours
by Obsessed-With-Obsessions555
Summary: Sherlock has been acting up, so John figures out a way to make Sherlock confess his secrets. No spoilers. Just pure adorableness and fluff :3


**Hi guys! Oh man, I am so sorry I haven't updated in such a long time! School has just been crazy and other crap... whatevs **

**I recently got EXTREMELY obsessed with Sherlock Holmes BBC. I am just, so in love with John it hurts... so I decided to write a little Johnlock fluff :D Also, I listened to Madilyn Bailey's song, "Crescent of the Moon" while writing this :3**

**Enjoy ravenous readers!**

Tonight, The World is Ours

The crescent moon rose in the sky like a new, bright love beginning to blossom. I, John Watson, sat on the couch of me and Sherlock's flat. Just thinking. Nothing more. I was thinking about how caught up Sherlock has been with his work lately. He has only eaten about three times in the past week and is always in his "Mind Palace", but that's normal when he has a complicated case.

No.

There is something else that I'm worried about.

Sherlock has been on edge lately. Everytime I get close to him he flinches, then swiftly struts out of the room and he is refusing to talk to me. I just can't place my finger on it, it's so curious. Hopefully tonight when he comes back I can get the truth out of him.

I got up to make him a peanut butter sandwich. I know he probably won't eat it, but still; At least I have a smidget of love in my heart for him.

Wait did I just say LOVE?

Just then, the door burst open to a strange sight; Sherlock, bloody and hair all matted, stood in the doorway holding a screwdriver. He looks around at the flat skeptically for no apparent reason, then hurries over to me. I pick up the sandwich and thrust it forcefully at his chest, knowing that if I offer it to him he'll just glare at it with disgust. He glances at the food and nods at me in thanks.

"So, who was it that killed the household?" I ask.

"The maid." Sherlock spat out in disgust, still holding the screwdriver. "She planned it, it was all an elaborite settup. She was getting back at Mr. Lerwick for making her walk the dog. She was a malicious, sick woman."

"Wait a second, why are you holding a screwdriver? And why are you _bloody_?" I examined him closesly, making sure that the blood wasn't emanating from him. A small drop of blood slipped cautiously down his forhead and made its way to his creased brow. Involuntarily I gently placed my hand on his porcelain face, gingerly swiping my thumb over the drop of blood. Sherlock tentatively looked up at me, his piercing blue-silver eyes meeting mine. For a split-second I was lost in them, drowning in a realm that consists of Sherlock, and Sherlock only.

The detective, _my_ detective, stood up suddenly and preceded to stride away with a brisk, "I'm fine, John."

He did it again. Why does he avoid me so much? Did I do something to anger him? Or hurt him? The questions pour through my mind, threatening to send me on overload. Calm down, John. He probably doesn't mean it personally, but it just comes off that way, because that's just who Sherlock Holmes is.

I heard the sound of the shower flowing with water, and figured that if it takes approximately 15 minutes for Sherlock to shower, then I can have just the right amount of time to plan.

Plan on how to get Sherlock to spill his secrets.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Twenty minutes later, Sherlock was out of the shower, dressed, and we were all set to go. I hailed a taxi, and we clambered in. As we drove away from 221B Baker Street, I could tell that my friend was curious as to where we were going. We drove in silence for a few minutes. Sherlock squinted at his watch, and, without looking at me, he broke the silence.

"John, may I ask where we are going at 10:34 p.m.?"

"I thought you might have deduced that already, almighty consulting detective." I said with a smirk. Sherlock grumbled something in protest to my statement. Shortly after, we arrived at our destination. I paid the driver and turned to Sherlock, who I knew would have some trouble figuring out why we were here.

"The _park_? What on Earth are we doing here?"

I chuckled **(A/N I love that word :D) **at the fact that the brilliant detective was finally at a loss for the answer of something so simple. "Just follow me." I held out my hand, and surprisingly enough, Sherlock took it in his own. We calmly strolled through the park, staying quiet on the outside, even though my nerves and my mind was buzzing and tingling with utter bliss at the feeling of the high-functioning sociopath's hand in mine. I stopped suddenly and turn to my friend.

"Do you know how to dance Sherlock?"

"Is that why you brought me here? To engage in silly, leisurely activities?"

"Well," I grabbed his free hand and placed it on my shoulder, "I thought it might help to loosen you up a bit." I placed my own hand on his back. He shivered at the contact. "A-and wh-why would need to loosen up? Loosening up means relaxing my mind, which creates chaos and ensues confusion." I started swaying to a not existent melody, and soon enough he followed my lead. I don't know how much time had passed, all I knew was that I was in Sherlock Holmes's arms, and that I never wanted to leave. I was falling into a deep abiss, a void of Sherlock, and I was falling, falling, falling...

Falling in love.

"John." Sherlock's gorgeous voice interrupted my inner thoughts. "I know why you wanted me to loosen up." "Mmm." I encouraged him to explain.

"You wanted me to tell you why I have been ever so rudely avoiding you for the past while." I shifted my gaze to him, telling him mentally to go on. "Testosterone, estrogen, dopamine, norepinephrine, serotonin, oxytocin, and vasopressin. Do you recognize those chemicals John?" I nodded. Me being a doctor, I recognized them. Understandment fills my body; Those chemicals, in some way or another, have to do with—

"_Love._" Sherlock said as if reading my mind. "This is the first time I have been in love..." He trailed off and I felt a pang of dissapointment. "So," I forced myself to say, "Who's the lucky person?" Sherlock smiled meekly. "Oh they are the most wonderful person I have ever met." More dissapointment. "That person is one of the smartest people I know, and they care for people more that I ever would." I was about ready to curl up and die in despair. "And that person loves to blog. About me. And also likes to hear me play violin, and he is my best friend. My _only_ friend." I tear my gaze away from the ground and focus it on Sherlocks grinning face. "He is always there for me, and he is the love of my life."

I made the mistake, or best decision of my life actually, of peering up into the detective's eyes. That's what got me; They made me lose myself, which created the opportunity for me to attach myself to the only anchor back to reality. Which was Sherlock's lips.

The moment my mouth touched his, it was like all of the magic in the world had decided to come shooting through my chest and envelope me in a sea of bliss. The kiss started out slow, but gradually grew into both of us melting against eachother's entire being. Sherlock pulled away, sighing in contenment, and looked at me lovingly. "That was my first kiss" He murmered with the cutest, dopiest smile I have ever seen.

"I love you more than anything in this world, Sherlock Holmes."

"I love you more than my violin." We both chortled in glee.

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That night, we lay in eachother's arms, legs entwined, trying to get as close as two humans physically can.

"You make my mind mush, my little blogger." Sherlock said.

"Really? Are you truly that infatuated with me that I can turn your brain, which has an IQ of like, 190, to _mush_?"

"Mhmm, that's why I was avoiding you. You were interfering with work." He wrapped his arms tighter around me. Then he looked up at me, "Did you know that you take up about 76% of my Mind Palace? That's more than half. You should be proud Dr. John Hamish Watson."

I beamed, soaking in the love. I couldn't find sleep for a while, but that's okay, because that meant more time to stare at Sherlock's sleeping form. I never want him to let go of me, and vice versa. I do believe that I am the happiest man alive. Why? Because...

I am Sherlocked.

"_**You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams."**_

_** -Dr. Seuss**_

**Did you like it? I like it :3 And ya know, I find it really funny how it takes me a whole week to write a five paragraph essay for history, but it takes me about an hour and a half to write a FOUR PAGE story on Word about two gay men :/**

**Lol enjoy thy day, ravenous readers ;)**


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